Speaking of bizarre encounters, Royals pitcher James Shields took the mound Tuesday against his former teammates for the first time after 12 seasons with the Rays. But never mind that shit, what's the deal with all the high-school-girl tweeting after the little spat between pitcher David Price and some umpire on Sunday? Juicy!
That's right, you little horny bastards. Valentine's Day is upon us. That glorious one day of the year when the calendar forces you to cowboy up and purge all the cheesy, ooey-gooey, lovie-dovie, vomit-inducing deep feelings you have to the one you love... with a $4 card written by somebody else. (But I signed it myself!) Indeed you did, Casanova. You win a handy. Keep your chocolates, flowers and spankings. Nothing's more heartfelt than that rare romantic soul-baring reminder of why you don't kill them in their sleep for leaving their short-and-curlies on the soap. And since love and sports go together like the Super Bowl and Monday cottonmouth, I'd like to hand out some early love notes to do my part and see if a few more of you can't have a happy ending this February 14th. Pucker up, buttercup.
49ers broke hearts in San Francisco. Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. I don't know who came up with that line of refried horseshit, but after the opening quote I needed to class it up a bit. Until this season, the San Francisco 49ers had never suffered a Super Bowl loss. Something every other "dynasty" (Cowboys, Steelers, Patriots...) had already done at least twice. Now the 49er faithful are left to ask themselves if the yearlong relationship was worth it after ending like a wet fart on a date. Not to worry, San Fran freaks. Harbaugh heartbreak is nothing a gallon of Beef Rice-A-Roni can't drown. By the way, if you're not seeing Alex Smith anymore, is it okay if we ask him out? He's totally dreamy and there's just something about Josh Freeman we can't trust.
Big Picture Alert: With four games left, if the Bucs don’t win again this year, they’re still better than last season’s record by two. So no matter what happens between now and then, one thing is for sure. The 2011 Tampa Bay Buccaneers sucked harder than Honey Boo Boo on a McDonald’s shake. Good God, is that not the most nauseatingly graphic example of the end of civilization ever to be televised? And I hear that Honey Boo Boo show isn’t much better. Hey-ohhh!
Join Matthew Michael Awesome and I as we embark upon a quest to find the solution to all my costume related issues from the cosplaying experts at Metrocon 2012.
Things I have learned:
1. My Velma Dinkley crush has not gone away. Jinkies!
2. Interviewing girls with epic boobs at eye level is a LOT more difficult than it looks. (I'm assuming practice is required to fix this... I'm not quite sure how to pitch that to the wife.)
3. I do not yet own all the cool t-shirts.
4. People don't mind being made fun of as long as they know you get the source material.
5. I would make a good Hawkeye.
6. Batman Plushies are adorable!
7. There is a massive resurgence in "My Little Pony" stuff and it is blowing my mind.
8. I still don't get Naruto...at all.
9. There aren't enough hi-fives in the world for the dude in the Iron Spider Man outfit.
10. It's nice hanging around a large group of people that get my jokes. :)
Well, Summer is upon us and that means vacation season. Whether we choose to travel to a far flung destination or we opt for a two-week stint in The Republic of Backyardia; ultimately, we all enjoy a change of pace once and a while.
In the midst of the hostile and bitchy fervor of the 2012 American Presidential campaigns it seems appropriate to pause and reflect. Reflect on what really binds us all during this virulent political climate.
The talking head pundits would have us believe that the country is horrifically divided and that the other guys are plotting and conspiring away in their evil alchemy crypt. Each faction scheming in their respective murky lair on how to suspend the constitution and install either a nefarious North Korean styled socialism or setting up an ultra fascist potentate. Busy busy busy constructing an eerie social wedge to be driven between the socio-economic classes. A wedge so malevolent and derisive that it will put all the peoples of the United States into a tailspin while the political alchemist skulks in a corner and laughs sinisterly all the way to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
Prom, Senior-itis, caps 'n' gowns, awkward breakups ("So HCC is, like 20 minutes away and stuff? I think we owe it to ourselves to be free"), awkward yearbook entries ("I didn't really know you, but we did have a few laughs in...Statistics, was it? Okay, bye") and for the rest of us grown-ups with electric bills and alcoholism, second degree burns from the steering wheel.
Ah, summer is here. (No, spring was canceled, sorry.) So, what kind of half-assed sports writer would I be if I didn't at least make a feeble attempt to help out the average sports fan in this otherwise sleepy sports season? A third-assed one at best? Break out the sun block and throw the weiners on the grill. It's your 2012 summer sports guide. This year, 80 percent man-thong free!
Then the Buccaneers pulled the old switcharoo on us pseudo-experts and picked the Alabama safety Mark Barron over the DB Claiborne. No problem. Anybody on that championship defense is a stud, we need a safety as much as any other defensive player, and the guy hits like John Lynch. Plus after Morris Claiborne scored about as high as Morris the cat on the Wonderlic Test, there was speculation whether or not the kid could pour piss out of a boot if the directions were written on the heel.
Speaking of punks, Rays reliever Fernando Rodney sports an idiosyncrasy slightly more annoying than his first and last name reversed. He wears his cap like Snoop Dogg (Snoop-a-loop is still relevant, right?). Manager Joe Maddon predictably yet disappointingly came to his defense.
"…I love it, and you can put a capital L-O-V-E in there. He's just expressing himself and for those that have a hard time with that, too bad."
Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, Maddon. Do I have to remind you there's no I in capital T-E-A-M? Yo Joe, mind if I take the mound with my Avenger boxers hanging out of my baggy baseball pants? Wait, did I say pants? I meant jorts. Gotta express myself. Madonna said so.
Want individuality? Play tennis, Agassi. (You remember Agassi, right?)